


Bright Ideas

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [42]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 19:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7374397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Cameron, across time and space. They get together without ever really getting it together. Set from season 3 of SGA onwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate SG-1/Stargate Atlantis, Cameron Mitchell/John Sheppard, I see you watching me watching you."

It was the same old game from flight school - sticking with their own crowds (Sheppard was rotor, Cam was fixed-wing combat; now Sheppard was Atlantis and Cam was SG-1), nodding at each other in the hallway, occasionally having a pick-up game of basketball. Watching each other. Out of the corners of their eyes, when they thought the other wasn't looking, through a window or in a reflective surface. And then watching each other when the other was looking.  
  
John had been kicked out of Atlantis and was miserable for it. Anyone with eyes could see that (but a good number of the people around John didn't want to have eyes, because if their beloved commander was miserable, how could any of them dare to be happy back on Earth?). No one knew what to do about it. Cam watched John and wondered when he was going to blow.  
  
He got an answer in a way he definitely hadn't expected. He was coming off post-mission adrenaline rush that not even a lengthy debriefing with Landry had fully taken the edge off of, so he decided to put some time in at the shooting range. There was something meditative about shooting, controlling his breathing, trusting his body to do what it was supposed to do.  
  
And then there were hands at his waist, and someone lifting his earmuffs aside, and a low, sultry voice in his ear.  
  
"I know you're a traditionalist, but I switched from an M9 to a P-14, and it's been great. You might have to change up your stance a little, but it's good and reliable. I think you'd like it. Being as traditional as you are, change once in a while is a good thing."  
  
"Sheppard," Cam said, pleased when his voice came out steady. "Startling a man when he has a firearm in his hands isn't the brightest idea, now is it?"  
  
"Who said I was looking for bright ideas?"  
  
Cam took a deep breath, unloaded the magazine from his gun, checked to make sure there was no bullet in the chamber, and set the gun down. "Sheppard -"  
  
"Cameron." John's lips were dangerously close to his ear.  
  
"This isn't flight school."  
  
"I know."  
  
"The stakes here are even bigger."  
  
"I know." John's hands on his hips tightened, and then John was pressed up against the length him, shoulder to hip to thigh, warm and unmoving. "You've been watching me."  
  
"You've been watching me right back." Cam would have set aside the muffs, but if someone just happened to glance at them, it'd look like they were working on stance. He hoped. The range was deserted this time of night, but the SGC ran on stranger hours than most bases.  
  
"How old are we again? You did it because I did it?"  
  
"We're old enough to know better." Cam stepped out of John's space, packed up his gun and his ammo, policed his brass, set aside the ear muffs for the next person to use, cleaning them with a disinfecting wipe as a matter of manners. He turned to leave the booth, and John caught his wrist.  
  
"We've been playing the same stupid game since flight school. Ever wondered what the prize is?"  
  
Cam looked at John, saw that flirty smirk that infuriated superior officers, saw that misery in his eyes.  
  
"It won't make you feel better."  
  
"It'll make me feel good," John said.  
  
Cam searched John's gaze. "Will it make our working relationship bad?"  
  
John shook his head. "I'm not staying here forever, Cameron. Either I'm going home, or I'm going away."  
  
John was flirty and insolent and borderline insubordinate, but he was also a damn good pilot and an even better commander. For the SGC to lose him -  
  
John brought Cam's whirling thoughts to a halt with a single searing kiss, and Cam realized, as he kissed back frantically, he wanted John to stay. For the Air Force. For Stargate Command. For _Cam._  
  
So he gave in an took John home and did his best not to look miserable when, four weeks later, John and three of his closest friends stole a jumper and went back to Atlantis.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis/Stargate SG-1, John Sheppard/Cameron Mitchell + Ronon Dex, Ronon catches his team leader kissing SG-1's team leader. What does he do?"
> 
> Set during Outcast.

When John arrived back on Earth, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with his leave. In addition to attending his father’s funeral, he’d been given a week’s compassionate leave. Anyone who knew the Sheppard family wouldn’t have thought John needed compassionate anything with regard to Patrick Sheppard, but a week’s extra leave on Earth was...nice. Because this was Ronon’s first time on Earth for leave, and John would have a chance to show him around.

Only John wasn’t equipped to be showing anyone around on Earth, because culture shock. The last time he’d been on Earth for something besides leave, he hadn’t checked in with any family, he’d been shuffled onto a new gate team and spent most of his time under the mountain or off-world, and the few times he’d made it to his SGC-provided apartment, it had been to sleep. He’d avoided the rest of the world, because if he didn’t fall back into it, it wouldn’t become home, and Atlantis would still be his home.

The one thing on Earth John had missed back in Atlantis was Cameron Mitchell, and if his last round of leave was any indication, Cameron Mitchell had missed him right back.

But Cameron Mitchell was the leader of SG-1, a very busy man, so it was incumbent upon John to show Ronon regular things, like the mall. Pick him up some more Earth clothes and maybe catch a flick. Not an action flick, because their lives were one long bad scifi action flick. Kusanagi had said something about the newest Miyazaki film. Those were cute and animated. Interesting enough for adults, but far enough from their day jobs that they wouldn’t be bored by the Hollywood absurdity of it all.

When John stepped into the cool air conditioning of the mall and into the crowds, he froze. On Atlantis, there was barely any privacy, and several hundred expedition members lived in a fraction of a city the size of Manhattan, but it was quiet. And empty, compared to the veritable mosh pit that was the downtown mall.

Ronon growled under his breath, shifted closer to John, stance defensive. John swallowed hard, brushed a hand over his thigh, but he wasn’t wearing his thigh holster. He wasn’t even carrying, even though he had a conceal carry permit.

A vibration at his hip startled him. He patted himself down, pulse rising, and there. His cell phone. They were pointless in Pegasus, but every SGC member was issued one so they could be reached off-base in case of an emergency. John swore every time he came to Earth the damn things got smarter and more inscrutable.

Swipe to answer, the screen said. He didn’t recognize the number. Not a Colorado area code, though. That didn’t mean anything.

John ducked down a dim corridor that led to the bathrooms and water fountains to answer, Ronon on his heels.

“Go for Sheppard.”

“Hey, Shep.”

John’s pulse started to slow at the sound of Mitchell’s familiar drawl.

“Heard you were back Earthside. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the gate. Sorry about your father.”

“You’re a busy man, Mitchell.”

“I saved the last Air Force-Citadel game, if you’re interested. Beer, pizza. The works.”

The works usually meant naked sweaty times, orgasm times. John had enjoyed those immensely the last time he was on Earth.

“I have a teammate with me,” John said. “He’s...not a local. I was planning on showing him the high life. Mall. Movie.”

“The mall? On spring break? Are you insane?”

“Kinda feeling like it, actually.”

“Hey,” Mitchell said. “I have a better plan. Beer. Pizza. The game, if your friend is interested in that sort of thing.”

“Ronon’s not so interested in football.”

“Then we can just hang out and shoot the breeze. Maybe shoot some hoops at the park. Later.”

Later, Mitchell said. When it’s less crowded, he meant.

“I like your plan,” John said. “Rendezvous?”

“You remember how to get to my place?”

“Yes.”

“Thirty.”

“Roger that. Sheppard out.” John prodded the screen a few times before it said the call had ended, and then he turned to Ronon. “Change of plans. Let’s go.”

Ronon nodded, casting a hunted look over his shoulder.

Mitchell lived in an actual house instead of in one of the apartment buildings that was populated almost entirely by SGC personnel, and his Mustang was in the garage when John pulled up in the generic motor pool sedan one of the SGC minions had given him keys to. The garage started to close just as John stepped out of the car. John led Ronon up to the front door, knocked.

Mitchell, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt unbuttoned over a t-shirt, answered the door. He was barefoot and smiling and John really, really wished Ronon wasn’t with him right that second.

But Mitchell smiled. “Shep, Ronon, c’mon in. I haven’t ordered the pizza yet, because I don’t know what kinds of toppings you like.”

John led Ronon into the foyer, kicked off his shoes, and followed Mitchell into the kitchen. “Black olives, mushrooms, and -”

“Breakfast bacon,” Mitchell finished, “but I don’t know what Ronon likes. Do you even get pizza in Pegasus?”

“Something like it,” John said, “but with a lot of local substitutes.”

“I like pineapple on my pizza,” Ronon said, and John made a face. The same face Mitchell made.

“You look like you can eat a whole pie on your own.” Mitchell fished his cell phone out of his pocket, dialed up the pizza place. He ordered three pizzas, one large Hawaiian for Ronon, a medium for John, and his own white sauce monstrosity, which John refused to even go near. “Forty-five minutes,” Mitchell said after he hung up. “I got movies, magazines, books, and games. Regular card games, plus a few weird ones my brother sent me.”

John hadn’t known Mitchell had a brother.

“I have no idea what the Air Force is doing in Germany, besides playing ridiculous numbers of strange card games. I have Apples to Apples, its adult cousin Cards Against Humanity - both of which might be a bit unfair to Ronon, given how heavily they rely on cultural references - and Munchkin, which is apparently like Dungeons and Dragons, only with cards.” Mitchell leaned back against the counter, and John’s gaze was drawn, briefly, to the sliver of skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the top of his jeans.

“I have no idea what any of that means,” Ronon said.

“You know,” Mitchell said, “you seem like the kind of guy who’d enjoy fails.”

“Fails?”

Mitchell smiled. “Let me go get my laptop.” He returned a moment later and sat down at the kitchen table. John crowded up behind him, and then Ronon pressed in close, because he had no sense of personal space. Whether it was a Satedan thing or a remnant of his being a Runner, John wasn’t sure.

Mitchell opened a browser, fired up YouTube, and typed in fails.

“Fails at what?” Ronon asked.

Mitchell grinned. “Everything.”

He wasn’t kidding. Martial arts demonstrations. BMX biking. Snowboarding. Skateboarding. Dirt-biking. Climbing ladders to do housework. And John couldn’t help it. He laughed. Winced when some of the guys in the videos - and they were all guys, it seemed - took nasty hits to the groin. Ronon was enthralled by all the different types of extreme sports. John was concerned when Mitchell started detailing all of the extreme sports options available in Colorado - snowboarding, skiing, sledding, tubing, and ice skating in the winter, downhill mountain biking on the ski runs in the summer. John was only slightly relieved when Mitchell explained that most of those sports were expensive and required lots of gear, but Ronon nudged John.

“I get paid, don't I?”

“I think so,” John said, and was glad that it wasn't his job to figure out how to get a bank account for someone who didn't have a birth certificate or social security card and was from another planet. At least Ronon, unlike Teal’c, was fully human.

“How do I find out how much money I have?” Ronon asked.

Even though John had no idea, he was still relieved when the doorbell rang. Mitchell went to get the pizza, and he set the three boxes down on the table in front of them. While he was rooting in the fridge for beers, there was a brief discussion about plates and civilized behavior, and they ended up eating the pizza right out of the boxes, still watching fails on YouTube. However, fails turned into them watching old broadcasts of the X Games so Ronon could see what successes looked like.

“So,” Mitchell said, once the pizza boxes were empty, “you ready to shoot some hoops?”

Ronon started to nod and startled everyone with a yawn.

“Huhn,” he said. “Is it really that late? No wonder you people stare at boxes for hours. It’s like you don’t even notice the hours.”

“When it’s interesting, at any rate,” Mitchell said. “I have a spare room and a couch, if you’re too tired to drive back to the base.”

“We didn’t bring any overnight stuff.” John wasn’t sure he could fend off the temptation of Cameron Mitchell sleeping in just the next room.

Mitchell shrugged. “I have spare toothbrushes and some sweats and stuff you can borrow.” He eyed Ronon. “I might even have some stuff that fits Teal’c, so it might fit you too.”

“That’d be great,” John said. “Ronon, you can take the bed. You’re taller. I got the couch.”

“Are you sure?”

John nodded. “Yeah.”

“But you’re older,” Ronon pointed out. “You complain about your back more.”

John felt himself blushing. Mitchell took a sip of beer to hide his amused smile.

“Really,” John said, “I’ll be fine. Mitchell’s couch is comfy.”

Ronon raised his eyebrows. “You’ve stayed here before?”

John nodded, but he hadn’t slept on the couch. Done a lot of other things on the couch, but not actually spent the night.

Mitchell grinned. “Well, that’s decided. I can pop in a movie if you like, but I’m guessing you’re ready for bed.”

“I am,” Ronon said. Mitchell showed him where the guest room and bathroom were, gave him clean clothes, a clean towel, a fresh toothbrush, and a disposable razor if he so chose. Mitchell was always a damn good host.

John, in an attempt to be a gracious guest, broke down the empty pizza boxes to stuff them into the garbage can, and he was just rinsing the beer bottles for the recycling bin when Mitchell returned with supplies for him.

“Hey,” Mitchell said softly. “I really am sorry about your dad.”

And maybe some SGC minion had been right after all, John had needed some compassionate leave, or maybe just some damn compassion, because he’d never gotten along with his father, fully hated him for a long time, but they’d never had the chance to make up, never had the chance to figure out what went wrong -

John curled a hand around the nape of Mitchell’s neck and pulled him into a kiss.

Mitchell kissed him softly, tentatively, and no, what John needed was an escape, something fast and hard and completely separate from the SGC or Atlantis or family. John needed to climb outside of himself, and the best thing for that was flying, but in the absence of flying, there was Cameron Mitchell.

John pressed him against the counter and started peeling him out of his flannel shirt. Cam made a low noise, and John sucked on his bottom lip, nibbled and licked, licked his way into Cam’s mouth, and then Cam was helping John, shrugging out of the flannel shirt and trying to work the t-shirt up his torso one-handed.

Ronon said, “Where’s the toothpaste?”

Cam wrenched himself backward, breathing hard. “Um. Toothpaste. Medicine cabinet. Behind the mirror.” He made a tugging motion. “You have to pull. On the left side.” His eyes were wide, his throat flushed.

“Ronon,” John began.

Ronon studied John for a long moment, then said, “Thanks, Mitchell.” And he turned and padded back to the bathroom.

Cam buried his face in his hands. “John, we - dammit, that was careless. What if it had been Lorne -”

“They’d never send him on leave at the same time as me.”

“Or McKay -”

“He’s Canadian. He doesn’t care.” John’s heart beat an unsteady rhythm in his chest.

“My entire team has keys to my place.” Cam peered through his fingers at John. “What the hell are we doing?”

“Each other, was my plan,” John said.

Cam sighed, and John realized the expression on Cam’s face was pain. “I mean this thing, between us. We had that whole stupid song and dance in flight school, and then when you thought you were back on Earth for good I was your distraction. When you were on leave a few months back, I thought you were just in it for fun, but I -” He swallowed hard. “I can’t just be your distraction. I can’t risk my entire career and my life and my team for a distraction.”

“I’m stationed in another galaxy.”

“I know.”

John studied Cam. “I barely made it with my wife when we were on the same planet.”

Cam raised his eyebrows. “Wife?”

It was why John had never made a move, in flight school. As much as his marriage to Nancy had been a disaster from the start, those vows meant something to John, more than they’d meant to her, at any rate. Maybe neither of them had been prepared for the _for worse_.

“Ancient history,” John said.

“Not so ancient you felt it was relevant enough to mention here.”

Cam had incredible blue eyes.

John wet his lips. He was so bad about talking about his feelings.

Cam sighed. “Good night, John.” It sounded like goodbye. He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

John knew he’d always be welcome at Cam’s house, that Cam would have a big country breakfast cooked first thing in the morning, but as he lay on Cam’s couch, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, he had the sense that he’d crossed a bridge and burned it.

“You know,” Ronon said, “for a second there, before I interrupted, you looked happy. And so did he.”

John rolled over so fast he fell off the couch with a thud.

Ronon, the bastard, had the temerity to laugh. Softly, so as not to wake Cam, but laugh all the same.

John pushed himself up, wincing at the dull ache in his shoulder.

“And,” Ronon said, “he’s way prettier than Nancy.” With that, he padded into the kitchen for a drink of water.

John stared at the empty doorway, listened to Ronon fiddle with the sink - he was used to Atlantis doing what he wanted to with a thought, same as John, who occasionally walked into doors at the SGC - and wondered what he was supposed to do now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis/Stargate SG-1, John Sheppard/Cameron Mitchell, Earth leave meant junk food, beer, and sex."
> 
> Picks up right where the last chapter left off.

Leave on Earth with Cam meant junk food, beer, and sex. At least, that was what it had meant when John was on Earth on actual leave a few months ago. Cam had shown John a rollicking good time - burgers, pizza, tacos, milkshakes, icees, banana splits, all of the best of Americana junk food that was barely a daydream in Pegasus. Anyone who’d seen them together in town would have thought they were two buddies, one showing the other a good time while he was home on leave, helping him indulge in all the things about home he’d missed while overseas. When they’d encountered any SGC personnel around town, they’d smiled, welcomed John home, and asked Cam if Cam was doing right by a fellow commander of a flagship team. John assured them that Cam was the perfect tour guide, because John hadn’t been in Colorado Springs long enough to figure out where all the best food joints were before he’d shipped out to Atlantis, and heaven knew there hadn’t been good food at McMurdo.  
  
Cam had also taken John around to some bars, let him sample the good stuff, not the Molson that Rodney foisted on everyone. Cam knew people who knew people, so John got to try craft microbrews and homemade mulled wine. They sipped lagers at a beer garden and schooled some Academy cadets in pool and darts. And they worked their way through Cam’s stash of beers at home, watching all of the football games Cam had recorded and saved for John for them to watch together (and maybe that should have been a sign, that Cam would record some of the biggest games of the season and wait to watch them with John).  
  
John had officially been staying on Cam’s couch during leave, but he’d slept every night in Cam’s bed after fantastic sex. Cam had taken John soft and slow, drawing it out with kisses and caresses. John had taken Cam hard and fast, in the shower or bent over the kitchen table or on his hands and knees in the den. John had missed half of the football games Cam had so thoughtfully recorded and set aside, because inevitably they’d end up making out on the couch, hands in each other’s clothes, tasting each other’s beer and laughing.  
  
After the daily stress-fest that was Pegasus, leave on Earth with Cam had been amazing.   
  
John hadn’t expected his leave on Earth to either be with Cam or be amazing, because John had come back to Earth for his father’s funeral.  
  
Cam had been amazing anyway, right until John had screwed it all up with his inability to say what he was feeling. It had driven Nancy away, it had driven Dave away. How it hadn’t driven Teyla away was a miracle. Given Rodney’s equal inability to talk about his feelings (whining about marching on missions didn’t count) and Ronon’s tendency to not talk at all, John’s inability to talk about his feelings wasn’t going to put a damper on those relationships any time soon.  
  
But Cam - John wasn’t even sure what was going on with Cam.  
  
Before, he’d been a distraction. A release. A relief. Fun.  
  
He’d become something else. Comfort. Friendship.   
  
Home.  
  
Not home in the sense Atlantis was, the place he lived for and bled for and would die for.  
  
But home, where he felt safe and complete and whole and knew he could be himself.  
  
John heaved himself up off of the couch and crept down the hall to Cam’s room. He eased the door open.  
  
Cam was sitting propped up against the headboard, and he was...knitting. His hands were flying, and the needles were clacking rhythmically, and Cam’s lips were moving silently as he counted stitches. He was damn competent at it. He must have practiced it a lot, or been doing it for a long time.  
  
“Cam?”  
  
Cam’s hands stilled.  
  
“Can I come in?”  
  
“Better keep it down. Your teammate’s asleep.” Cam speared the two needles through the ball of yarn, wrapped the work around it, and set it aside, rested his hands in his lap.  
  
“Not that asleep,” John said. “And...he doesn’t care.”  
  
“I don’t care what he thinks,” Cam said. “I care what you think.”  
  
John wet his lips. “I...care. About you. About us.”  
  
“Us?” Cam raised his eyebrows.  
  
John closed the door silently, perched on the edge of the bed. “Us.”

Cam looked at him for a long time. Then he held out a hand, and John reached out, took it, let Cam pull him close.  
  
Cam hugged him.  
  
John was startled for a second, having expected a kiss, but then he closed his eyes, absorbed Cam’s warmth.  
  
“I care about you too,” Cam whispered. John knew Cam deserved better, deserved words that meant more, but they lived in two different galaxies. It would take a lot of work, but John was willing to do it, to get himself to a place where he could say more.  
  
“I’ve missed you,” Cam said, drawing back.  
  
“I’ve missed you, too.” John leaned in and kissed him.  
  
Cam smiled against John’s mouth, and he said, “Show me.”


End file.
